


Silver And Salt

by The_Real_Squoose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abraxas and Harry but not really, Christmas fic, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, PTSD, Riddle at Hogwarts Era, Snowball Fight, Time Travel, Tom is Jealous, Young Albus Dumbledore, Young Gellert Grindelwald, Yule Ball, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 22:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17435048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Real_Squoose/pseuds/The_Real_Squoose
Summary: Hogwarts. 1942. After a mysterious item in the Room of Requirement sends Harry back in time, he becomes trapped on unfamiliar ground. Battling nightmares of Cedric's death, struggling to find his place among his new Housemates, and chasing the answers that will lead him home.Tom Riddle is the prince of the school hiding dark secrets. Secrets that few but Harry know. Friend or foe, ally or betrayer, lover or breaking point. They're puzzle pieces slowly falling into place, whether they like it or not.





	1. The Silver Sea

_October, 1995._

 

“It's ridiculous!” Hermione slammed her book on the table a moment after Ron moved the plate. “First she changes the entire curriculum, now she cancels the exams?”

“Bloody hell, ‘Mione,” Ron said, swiping at the table where some of the plate's contents had been thrown. She huffed, plopping onto the bench and opening the book, its stiff spine creaking as she flipped through the pages. Her hair was wild around her, as if she had run her hands through it in her frustration, and even her uniform was in disarray- leaving her to straighten her tie as she scanned the pages. 

Harry and Ron exchanged glances.

“Did you go to sleep last night?” Harry asked gently. The bags under her eyes were apparent in the sunlit Hall. 

“I was studying!” She snapped. They exchanged another glance- one that she noticed. She looked at them guiltily, fiddling with her robes. “Sorry. I was studying, trying to memorize all these stupid 'Creature Rules’ of hers, and the classifications. . .and then I heard this morning that she canceled the exams. Due to the spellwork portion, she says, because she wants it eliminated.”

Harry looked up at the teacher's table, where Umbridge was carrying on as usual. It was a cool but cheery day, the ceiling of the Great Hall showing a clear blue and silver sky. Students were hunched over breakfast and books, scribbling on parchment and idly chatting. It was a beautiful day ripe to be ruined with some manner of assignment from Umbridge. Perhaps another 18-inch essay on Ministry Dark Magic regulations. Perhaps a 20-inch on why Voldemort was dead.

Perched on the edge of her chair like a flighty, pompous, bird- she peered down at them all with that infuriating smile. Umbridge’s frilly pink clothes didn’t help her against the comparison, serving to make her appear even more like some strange and ugly species. Her small, watery, eyes scanned up and down the tables until she reached where the trio was sitting. She locked eyes with him, raising a brow, and Harry glared right back. 

He felt a familiar curl of hate in his gut, wishing for all the world that Dumbledore had the power to kick her out of the school. Hermione had been right- painfully so, really. The Ministry was trying to take over Hogwarts, and Umbridge was their enforcer, determined to do everything in her power to mess up their lives. Hermione was right about another thing; Umbridge was truly the devil incarnate.

“Harry,” He broke the staring contest, looking to Ron and urging his brain to process the words being thrown at him.

“What?”

Hermione was flipping something between her fingers- a Galleon. “When's the next meeting?”

He could feel the weight of Umbridge's eyes on him again. Remembering the DA was satisfying. She knew, of course, that something was going on- had gotten bits and pieces of information from her little minions. His personal arch enemy, next to Voldemort of course, had been trailing him quite obviously for days, at the end of every corridor as he went from class to class. But with the help of the map, Malfoy didn't stand a chance. Try as they might to place new restrictions and catch them, no ‘ _Inquisitorial Squad_ ’ could stop the DA. “Tonight. We’ll have it tonight, after dinner.”

A smirk curled at Hermione's lips as she drew her wand under the table and tapped the coin, changing the numbers. Harry felt his own grow hot against his thigh. He liked to keep it in his pocket, to hold onto whenever Umbridge was being particularly terrible.

Ron grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “Have you planned the lesson yet? I was thinking we work on some Transfiguration. You know, to cause a little trouble.”

“Trouble?” Hermione laughed, shaking off the remnants of her frustration, “Should we turn kittens into Cornish Pixies? Or the other way around?”

“Umbridge would love that,” Ron agreed, grinning back at her.

“I'll write that one down,” Harry said. And not as any sort of joke! They had actually compiled a list of all the distractions they could possibly think of. It had been an entertaining night with the DA, sitting in a circle and jotting down everything from giving Filch Fred and George’s chocolates to enchanting a line of tap-dancing spiders. Ron hadn’t liked that last one though, so they had to switch out spiders for cows. A more noticeable, and therefore more effective distraction anyways.

“Oh! That reminds me,” Hermione said, tapping the parchment Harry had pulled out. “Harry, I was thinking that we should go through the Room of Requirement for anything the DA could use. I know there are plenty of books in there, and perhaps some enchanted objects or- well. I don’t know. There are a lot of possibilities.”

“Don’t know?” Ron muttered as he piled more food onto his plate, “That’s a new one.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, giving Harry a _‘can you believe this git?_ ’ look. “So?”

He turned it over in his head, but it wasn’t a hard decision to make. The Room had been there since Hogwarts was built, who knew what secrets it held, and with Umbridge around, Defense wasn’t the only class getting stricter. All the curriculums had been changed, and less and less magic was being used. Their only weapon was slowly being stripped away, what hope did they have but to train themselves?

Harry nodded in agreement, and Ron carefully chewed on his toast. “Mm, ‘ve go’a free pe’iod af’er lunch.”

“It’s settled, then,” Hermione said, blocking Ron from taking another bite.

“It’s settled,” Harry repeated. He grinned as Ron and Hermione went back and forth, him responding to her every claim with the infamously creative ‘you’re not my mum’ speech. She finally gave up with a heavy sigh, while Ron victoriously waved his butter knife, barely missing the girl next to him.

“Last time I visited,” she said, snatching the knife from Ron without a glance. “I found a book on defensive magic. Apparently, it’s not circulating anymore, since it was deemed too powerful- especially one particular chapter on Rebound spells.”

Harry nodded. Having an arsenal of spells no Death Eater had heard of would come in handy. “I’ll take a look at it- but anything we try has to be safe enough for the DA.”

“Of course.” Her next words were directed pointedly at Ron, who was focused purely on his breakfast. “Maybe I should demonstrate on you?”

“Wha-” Ron coughed violently, choking on the toast he had been scarfing down.

“Hey!” Hermione exclaimed, while Harry tried to dodge the flying bits of spittle and bread.

“Ro-ooon,” Harry groaned. He snatched a napkin from his hapless friend while Hermione pounded him on the back.

“Haven’t I warned you not to talk with your mouth full?” she chastised, though she had remained out of the line of fire from her seat beside him. Harry glowered at the sticky splotches and occasional bits of mush now decorating the front of his robes, blinking in surprise when they vanished.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, seeing Hermione’s sympathetic expression as she put her wand away.

“Anything to say, Ronald?” she said, though her tone had turned light and teasing. Ron grumbled out an apology, but swiftly turned back to stuffing himself full of toast. Hermione let out a sound- an attempt at a scoff that quickly turned into laughter. Harry laughed with her, and for a moment everything was perfect. Sunlight beaming down, Umbridge’s attention off of them, and a little bubble of happiness that hid him from the stares and whispers of the other students. He’d had a rocky start, with the Dementors, expulsion, the trial, then gossip and glares once he came back to Hogwarts. The place that was supposed to be his escape- but it was working out, wasn’t it? Everything was going to be fine.

 

~~~

 

 _Bang!_  Harry cursed, flicking his wand frantically in an attempt to douse the flames. It had been so simple, just a few spells to analyze the strange object before he laid hands on it- and it just had to blow up.

He sighed as the fire finally died down, looking around at the piles upon piles of items in the Room of Requirement. It was quite an assortment- towering stacks of everything from school books and old curtains to desks and entire beds. The room stretched on and on into the distance, until it became nothing but blurs of colors and shadow in his vision. There were a few open surfaces around him- ancient vanities, a scorched trunk, a tipped over wardrobe- that he had cleared off in preparation.

Hermione and Ron were only supposed to be a few minutes late, running some errand or another for Professor McGonagall, and he had been eager to start on their task the moment he arrived. So, hence the tests and the flames.

Harry flicked his wand, making a projection of the time appear. “Twenty minutes late, Hermione,” he said in the general direction of the door. His voice echoed, sounding deafening against the crushing silence.

He sighed, then flinched at the sound. There was a strange pressure or presence or something in the room that day- making him feel like he was leading on a monster. Showing it his location so it could pounce.

 _“Harry!”_ A voice cut through the quiet of the room- a musical, airy thing. He whipped around, trying to find the source of the voice. There was nobody else to be seen, and he hadn’t recognized the voice in the first place. Harry held his wand at the ready, scanning the room and never letting giving his back to one area for too long.

“Who’s there?” he demanded. The wardrobe was laid face-down, so clearly nothing could be inside it, right? None of the vanity drawers could hold a person, although that was to assume the source of the call was even human. Harry glared at it with suspicion before the trunk drew his attention. In some ways, it resembled the trunk that had been used to house a Boggart for DADA class. More than big enough for several people, with a wrought iron padlock on the front and dark metal details.

“No.”

“Who’s there!” The voice had come from behind him, only a few feet away. 

“Over here, Harry,” it beckoned. “Come closer.”

Harry did an about-face to find the origin. Nothing.

The object he had been messing with- a structure that looked rather like a giant silver time-turner set into a large wooden frame, was the only thing that stuck out. It was bright against the pile behind it, even through the dust. Rather than words around outside of the rings, there were runes in a thin, twisting script- ones Hermione might recognize but that he didn't.

 _“Harry. . .”_ The high, lilting voice called. It was not unfriendly, but admittedly rather eerie- and it had a charm to it, the same pull that he imagined a Siren’s song might have. Dazed, he approached it with measured steps, and now as he drew even closer he could tell that the voice did indeed come from the strange object. It sat on an old chair, the top of it reaching his chest, though even with the golden sand inside along with the metal and wood, it seemed to be lighter than a feather when he had picked it up earlier. Harry stepped closer, slowly, lifting his wand to clear away the dust.

It reflected the light brilliantly- no, it was glowing- a white, pure light. Harry felt the power radiating from it, pulses of magic leading him until he ran his fingers along its gilded edges. A tingly warmth spread from his hands up through his arm. It danced across his shoulders, and within a few moments he was shining with it.

“Harry,” the voice said again, and his eyes slipped closed, the darkness swallowing him up. It was peaceful, the voice like a gentle lullaby, and the sway of its magic was calming. An ocean of power slowly pushing and pulling him with the tide, the thrum of an infinity of living creatures around him. He could sense them weaving in and out of each other below him, in the deep depths of the sea. They glided up to meet him, energy slipping around and through him.

He felt something in his chest; not some big bang, but a contained explosion. A contentedness that filled him with warmth. And he was floating. Floating on the water, floating into the sky, floating higher and higher until he reached the gleaming silver moon and saw it’s glow against the back of his eyelids. “Harry, wake up.”

 

~~~

 

The first thing he noticed was the cold. There was a hard stone floor beneath him, and a chill in the air. His head was pillowed on his bag, and something wet was sliding through his hair and down his neck.

Harry jolted, sitting up and snapping open his eyes, seeing the corridor spin before him. He blinked rapidly, trying to think back. Trying to think at all. Hadn’t he been in the Room of Requirement? He remembered the moon- something about the moon. He looked around, seeing torches down the wall and the painting with the dancing trolls. Ridiculous as ever.

“Hello?” He called, to no response, rubbing the back of his head. His hand came away covered in ink, and a quick examination of his bag, paired with the fact that his legs were aching, made him conclude that he had landed hard. The ink bottle in his bag had shattered, soaking his books and parchment in the dark, slick liquid.

Sighing, he closed his bag again and scooped it off the ground, wiping black fluid over the red flaps of his robe. At least the hallway was empty, or else he’d have to answer questions- and he was definitely not ready for that. He put a hand back up to his head, forcing himself to his feet. A wave of dizziness hit him, accompanied by a pulsing pressure like his brain was pushing up against his skull. Harry groaned, stumbling to the wall and pressing his forehead to the cool, soothing stone, releasing the strap of his bag and ignoring the crunch of glass.

Time to regroup. He had been in the Room of Requirement. Ron and Hermione were on their way in just a few minutes. He had been casting simple, harmless, spells. There had been no one else in the room with him. There had been a voice, and a pull, and clearly he had gone unconscious at some point, and perhaps someone dragged him out of the Room? But for what reason? And where were they now? And how long had it been?

Harry searched for his wand, quickly finding it inside his robe pocket. Funny, he didn’t remember putting it there, and whoever moved him didn’t just steal it. Harry drew his wand carefully, comforted by the familiar holly. He cast a quick spell, projecting a little image of the time- 5:32 pm. Almost dinner, far past when someone should’ve come after him. His head spun with the oddness of it.

“ _Scourgify,_ ” he whispered, remembering the cleaning spell. “ _Reparo._ ” The ink bottle pulled itself back together as he resolved to go back into the Room. Bracing himself for a possible attack, wand clutched tight, he stalked back and forth in front of the wall. Sections of stone pushed away and darkened until the spiraling design appeared, the door swinging open before him. Harry took a measured step forwards with a white-knuckled grip on his only weapon and a humming anticipation in his very bones. 

Only, there was no one in the cavernous room. Just the same piles of items, and a heavy blanket of silence. Of course, Hermione had taught him better than to just let it go at that. Harry scanned the room with several sensing charms. For people, for creatures, for any living presence- but there was nothing. Nothing at all.

His stomach flipped, unsettled, and his attention was drawn to an object laying on its side at the foot of a rickety table. It gleamed, a blink of light like a wink, looking exactly as it had a few minutes ago- although he knew that wasn’t where he left it. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, switching tracks and striding right back out again. He really didn’t want to have another thing to worry about right now.

It was almost dinner, and that sounded like a fantastic idea at the moment. Food to quell the twist in his gut and two people to help him figure out whatever the hell just happened.

The room shut itself quietly, dissolving into the wall behind him as if it had never been there at all, and Harry began his trek to the Great Hall. He let his mind wander, wanting to think about something that didn’t confuse him and make him so. . .unnerved. It wasn’t a foreign feeling, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant.

A flash of a shy smile and a blue scarf came to mind. Warm, intelligent eyes. And then, a flash of yellow and black. He had liked Cedric, perhaps a little more than he should’ve for someone that had technically been competing against him. But who could blame him? The Hufflepuff was kind and helpful on top of being handsome- which is why it had hurt doubly so when he found out Cedric and Cho were going to the Yule Ball together. And his honest smiles, the little mischievous spark in his eye as he told Harry about the egg, how fair he insisted on being in every single situation. Those all made his death worse. Green flashed across the backs of his eyelids, and Harry knew that his nightmares were going to be making their return that night.

“You alright, mate?” Harry flinched, only retracting into himself more when he saw the little badger on the boy’s robes. He had managed to miss the fact that three other students were in the hall with him- the Hufflepuff boy with honeyed hair looking at him, concerned, and two Ravenclaw students just behind him. He nodded quickly, ducking his head when the boy put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Harry choked out, “Just fine.” His heart tugged a little, the faces of a stranger and a friend blurring together- and even through that image, all he could see was Cedric’s glassy eyes.

“I’m Avior,” he said softly, and nudged the pair behind him. Harry did his best to paste a smile on his face, taking comfort in the weight of the coin in his pocket and the wand pressing into his ribs.

“Blair,” one of the Ravenclaws, a girl with curly black hair, introduced shortly. She turned her attention back to Avior, elbowing him back. “Dinner’s starting soon, and I don’t fancy my seat getting stolen by bloody _Barbara_ again.”

Avior laughed abruptly, and Harry had to stop himself from flinching. “We don’t have assigned seats!”

“Yeah, that’s what Barb-dear says,” Blair snapped, though her eyes were dancing. “Everyone knows that’s where I sit.”

“Not at lunch!” protested their last member, a red-haired girl. She grinned when Blair whipped around with raised brows.

“Must you both insist on playing Devil’s advocate?” She mock-glared at Avior. “It’s all your fault, anyways.”

“For doing what?” he spluttered, and Harry enjoyed a few more moments of temporary relief while their attention was off of him. He scrubbed his eyes harshly, trying to wipe away any trace of tears.

“She thinks she’s impressing you! Showing how so very strong and assertive she is so the meek little Hufflepuff will be swept off his feet.”

“Lies!”

Harry shuffled his feet as they went back and forth, considering making an awkward turnaround. The curly-haired Ravenclaw was gesturing for them to get a move on, and Avior obliged, shooting an apologetic smile at Harry. His heart tugged again. “Want to walk with us? We were just talking about- don’t even say it, Blair- last week’s Quidditch game. Gryffindor versus Slytherin- and the Slytherins lost! I swear, their team was better in ‘39, and that was when Goyle led the team.” The boy rambled cheerfully, clearly trying to distract Harry from the tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.

“They were still better in ‘37,” Blair cut in, giggling.

“You mean during the dragon incident?”

“I meant the Great Goat Event, but that too. Blimey, that was a weird year,” Harry felt like he was missing out on something as the trio burst into laughter.

“And to be my first experience with Quidditch,” Avior sighed, “I had such high expectations after that.” There was no conclusion Harry could draw from the conversation, lost in what must’ve been a multitude of inside jokes. What else could explain it? Unless Charlie shown up in the middle of a match while he was chasing the Snitch. And goats? Well no, since they were referencing an event in 1937, an odd bit of information to know, even for Ravenclaws. And then Avior had said. . .

Harry settled on the easiest piece of the puzzle to identify. “Did you say Gryffindor? I don’t remember that.”

“The whole school was talking about it,” Blair replied dubiously. Harry’s eyes darted between the trio, seeing nothing out of sorts. They weren’t joking.

“I didn’t know.”

The other Ravenclaw was staring at him curiously, even as she shoved pieces of parchment into the cauldron on her arm, trying to stop the overflow. “You must have missed it,” she piped up. “It happens. Unless you’ve got friends obsessed with the stupid sport, of course.”

Harry shook his head while Blair punched her arm. “I couldn’t have.” Draco would’ve teased him endlessly if he had, not to mention what his own Housemates would say.

Avior shrugged, trying to laugh it off and continue their trek. “You wouldn’t believe what’s possible. I once missed all of my classes because I thought it was a Saturday,”

“Despite us talking about Merrythought at breakfast that very morning,” The curly-haired Ravenclaw sing-songed. Blair hooked his arm playfully, and they swayed back and forth for a few steps, almost bowling over their third member. The girl huffed dramatically and leisurely caught a textbook that tipped out of her cauldron.

“Merrythought?” Harry asked, feeling dumber by the second. The pair paused, looking back at him. Was that some sort of potion ingredient?

“The Defense professor?” She said tenderly, her expression softening. Harry had a double-take looking at her. Wild, curly hair tumbling past her shoulders, mahogany skin, and eyes of pooling ink. She looked to be in his year, or somewhere near it- but he didn’t recognize her, neither had he heard the name Blair around school. And then there was the matter of the other Ravenclaw, with her memorable carrot hair. She looked like a Weasley- with pale skin, a long nose, and freckles sprinkled over her face- but she couldn't be. She wasn’t anyone he’d seen before.

They didn’t seem to recognize him in return- and everyone had been acting rather shifty around him just that morning. Nobody would talk to him, much less ask him how he was feeling or invite him to go to dinner with them. There might be plenty of students at Hogwarts, but he had seen everyone’s face before, even if he hadn’t befriended them.

He remembered the giant silver hourglass, and the voice that had called to him. Before, it had been like peering through murky water, trying to see a line of pictures on a riverbed. Knowing they were there but unable to reach them or make out the fine details. The water cleared now, and he remembered hearing his name being called, the ocean swaying beneath him. The hourglass had reminded him of a Time-Turner, after all. “Excuse me,” he said quietly. He took a breath to steady himself, to no avail. “What year is it?”

The Hufflepuff narrowed his eyes, as honey-colored as his hair, and examined Harry again. “Did you knock your head? It’s 1941.”

Harry snorted, trying to look amused. “Of course it is.” He looked between the three friends, who had all stopped their banter and were exchanging glances. His feet stuck to the floor, heart hammering to a stop. “Are you serious?” His disbelieving laugh was high and airy.

“Maybe you should go to the Infirmary,” Avior was saying, but the words seemed warped. Far away and filtered, and Harry was sinking, sinking, sinking. The ocean was rising to take him again, to carry him far away. Harry felt a steadying hand on his arm, urging him back down the corridor.

“No!” Harry jerked his arm out of the boy’s grip, stumbling back. “No. I’m fine. I’ve just- sorry, I’ve got to- I’ve got- things,”

“Things. . .” Avior repeated.

“Upstairs.”

“Uh-huh,” Avior approached slowly, hands raised as if he was trying to calm a wild animal. Behind him, the girls were unsure, edging away from the situation.

“I left a textbook,” Harry stepped back every time Avior stepped forwards. “Excuse me,” Harry spun on his heel and whisked away down the hall as the boy made a leap for him, running before any of them had the chance to grab him again.

“Hey, wait!” They weren’t joking. It was 1941. “Come back!”

WWII-era. Whatever had happened in the Room of Requirement had sent him back in time. “Lion-boy!” The designs, the words, the stars. Maybe it had been a prototype of some sort.

“We’re getting Madam Bliant!”

“Sorry!” Harry shouted behind him, stealing one last glance behind him as he rounded the corner. The Hufflepuff was staring after him, eyes wide, while Blair held him back.

 


	2. Familiar Faces

No wonder it looked like an oversized time-turner! Harry ducked into a little niche in the wall, whipping out his wand to be sure. They had to be joking- so what if it had gone much farther than that-maybe they were just- ridiculously good actors? He cast the charm for the time, then again for the date. October 24th, 1941.

His breath caught in his throat- it couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t.

He let his feet carry him back up the stairs, towards the device that had sent him here. Things were bad enough this year- the Dementors coming after him, the trial for defending himself, Umbridge and her tyrannical rule, Dumbledore’s cold shoulder. But hey, there was an upside, right? Umbridge wasn’t born yet. Probably.

Oh, bloody hell. Time-travel. He’d already gone through all this before, and learned his lesson well the first time around. His escapades with Hermione had proven to be confusing and dangerous, threatening to tip everything out of order. How could this be happening again? The stone was cool against his face as he stumbled into it, resting as he tried to catch his breath. In, out. In, out. In, out. Oh god, ohgod, ohgod.

Harry pushed away again, realizing that the trio could easily catch up with him if he stopped for too long. At least he wasn’t in immediate danger here-

“Are you lost?”

Harry turned. He had made his way all the way back to the corridor where his little adventure had originated, dancing trolls and all. Straightening his robes, Harry tried to paste an expression on his face that was less I’m-having-an-existential-crisis. There was a boy standing by the tapestry, leaning casually against the wall with his hands tucked into his trouser pockets. He was around Harry’s age, with dark eyes and hair neatly combed down. The boy smiled politely.

“I haven't seen you around,” He said, and seemed to examine Harry. He missed the cold peace of the wall already. “A transfer student, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Harry echoed, brain still sluggish from the overload of information. The boy looked friendly enough, a look of easy curiosity on his face. Harry felt the beat of silence weigh on him, and panicked, still gulping down air as he wracked his mind for something to say. “Yeah- I was um, I was homeschooled. By my parents. They were fine though! Good teachers, I know all the, y’know, basic magics and- well obviously I can do more than basic magic. I’m up-to-date on Herbology and Charms and all that. I know what they teach here. At Hogwarts. We had the curriculum! They knew it. So. . .” Harry snapped his mouth shut before he could embarrass himself further- the boy was already giving him odd looks.

“How very fascinating,” He said simply, tone suggesting the exact opposite. Harry pulled a face, indignant, and the boy recalibrated. “You’ll fit right in then, nothing to worry about. Even if you were falling behind, the teachers here- most of them, anyways- are perfectly helpful.”

“Sounds like there’s a backstory,” Harry acquiesced. He could relate to that, bad teachers seemed to plague him every year. And one in particular shouldn’t be trusted at the school alone with the DA, without Harry being able to help.

The boy hummed in agreement, the set of his shoulders much harsher than before. “Isn’t there always- you’ll meet him yourself. He’s a judgemental bastard,” He leaned forwards conspiratorially. “And don’t tell him I said that.”

“Right.”

The silence only lasted for a moment before the boy deftly changed the subject. “So, enrollment? That’s curious.”

“What.” Agitation writhed under his skin. Hermione and Ron must be looking for him- the whole DA might be looking for him! He needed to get back into the Room and look at the machine, even if he didn’t know where to start with it. At least there he could think without being bothered or exposed. Which reminded him- there were laws about this sort of thing, weren’t there? Mainly that anyone attempting time-travel was going to find themselves in some very deep trouble. Considering his current status with the Ministry, a situation like that would be less than helpful. The Minister of Magic would be happy to throw him in Azkaban for ‘endangering the lives of every witch and wizard in the world’, although it was true he was doing just that.

The boy across from him replied dubiously, “Where'd you get those robes?” His eyes narrowed at Harry, at his clothes. Harry flushed as red as his tie, and the lining of his robes, and the crest on his chest.  
  
“They belonged to my father,” Harry said, half-desperation, half-impatience. “He was a student here.”  
  
“Clearly,” The dark-haired boy said flatly. Harry shifted, uncomfortable, and the boy pushed off the wall- approaching with a slow, measured gait. He ducked his head, as if in shame (or perhaps hiding amusement), and only locked eyes with Harry again when he was right before him. Sharp eyes scanned his face, analyzing him, radiating an off-putting vibe Harry hadn’t felt before. He leaned away unconsciously, putting some space between them before the other boy stuck his hand out with a courteous smile. “How rude of me. Tom Riddle.”

Harry was thrown off for a second, thinking that he’d heard that name before somewhere. Somewhere important. The boy- Tom- was still staring at him. “I'm James. James Evans,” Harry said quickly, blurting out the first name that came to mind. It was a plausible name, and one he would definitely remember, nevermind learn to react to as his own. He opened his mouth to say something else, anything else, but remembered just in time that it was better not to meddle too much.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Tom replied, though his smile had turned biting, and was giving the distinct impression that Harry had done something wrong. He glanced down, realizing that he hadn’t shaken the boy’s outstretched hand. Tom made the first move, sweeping him into some strange hand-to-elbow sort of greeting. It was a rather medieval clasp, likely some pointless pureblood status symbol. Harry nodded tersely and yanked his arm away as if burned.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be? I thought it was almost dinner,” he said, hoping to be rid of this nuisance. This time, Tom didn’t give an effort to be passive-aggressive about it, and his withering glare would make even the most imperious Malfoy shy away. Harry pondered once more his situation, stuck all the way back during WWII, and even in the Wizarding World there wasn’t an escape- because then there was Grindelwald, and after him Voldemort-

“ _Morgana_ ,” Harry hissed- remembering exactly where he knew that name from. That name, and that face, and that voice- hissing Parseltongue and spitting curses and command. Harry flinched, taking several steps back. His eyes flicked down to Riddle's robes- lined with Slytherin green. How could he have missed it, even for a moment? Perhaps due to how accustomed he had become to the snake-like, inhuman face- to the point where he could scarcely remember the Riddle from the diary.

He wanted to scream. He was stuck in 1941, standing in an otherwise empty corridor several floors from another living creature, with a mini-Dark Lord. This was Voldemort. The man who had killed his parents and his friends and countless other people- who had tortured him, from the inside as well as the outside. At this point, the graveyard from which he had risen had been the setting for so many nightmares he knew it better than the back of his hand.

He whipped his wand out violently on instinct, murder in his eyes as his lips formed the first syllable of a Disarming spell- but Riddle hadn't reacted. The man- the monster- was just standing there, looking amused.  
  
“And what are you planning to do with that?” His voice was low and dangerous, having taken a drastic turn from the light, forcibly cordial tones. Riddle’s mask slid away like water, his face a bad omen, if only for a moment. Harry’s fingers flexed around his wand, and there was a long beat where all he could hear was his blood rushing in his ears. He could end it all, right then and there. Destroy Riddle and make sure the world never had to deal with him ever again.

Riddle tilted his head in an almost patronising manner, and a treatise on time-travel cut into his thoughts, Hermione's voice ringing. It was best not to meddle- lest you only make everything worse. For those directly in contact, then the people they interacted with, and all the people affected by those changes and events which in turn cause new events. . .so on and so forth until the world was a ball of madness. Harry supposed the world couldn’t get much worse. That is, unless Voldemort won. If he tried to kill Riddle would he really even succeed? What if he had made his first Horcrux already?

Memories from second year tried to battle their way to the surface, but they were conflicting and ever-changing. How old had Riddle been? How strong? What year had he talked to Slughorn? If he was able to create a Horcrux that young then he must have equal or greater magical ability to Harry at this age. It was a risk to try, which he realized the more he thought about it. And if Riddle simply killed him for his efforts instead, there would be no victorious return to the future. No chance of fighting by and for his friends in what was likely soon to be the darkest time of their lives. With everything that happened with the Tournament last year, the constant presence of fury just under his skin, then the suspicion from all his peers; Harry knew he was already there, and that there was nothing left but to teach the D.A. and talk to his friends, and try to ignore absolutely anything else.

Riddle was still staring. Harry raised his wand and cast his best Summoning Charm. Bless Hermione’s soul and her time-travel and escapade-backed lectures. A trunk appeared, small and brown, and Harry sent out a silent apology to whoever he had just stolen from. Harry gave his best condescending smile, trying to bite back the disgust bubbling in his chest. He wanted to end it so, so badly- or at least land a curse for his own satisfaction.  
  
“Had to get my things,” Harry said shortly, “I have to go. You know, talk to the Headmaster and all. Excuse me.” He turned on his heel, sweeping up the trunk and walking as fast as he could without looking even more suspicious. He chided himself internally on being that obtuse- How could he have forgotten, even for a moment, exactly who that man was. He was just as hauntingly beautiful as the Tom from the diary.  
  
“Do you know where you're going?” Riddle called after him. Harry paused, hearing Riddle's footsteps echo in the corridor as he stalked after him at his own leisurely pace. Continuing on with his internal conversation, Harry cursed that blasted Riddle and his persistence with every word in the book before doing his best imitation of politeness.

“No, I suppose I wouldn't,” He answered. There was a pause, where Riddle looked at him- an indescribable hunger in his eyes- and Harry looked away.  
  
“Follow me,” Riddle said, and headed in the opposite direction. Harry stared after him, trying to force himself to move. His limbs protested, understandably, the idea of following a Dark Lord anywhere if not for spying on him, or waiting for the right moment to strike. Although, it wasn’t a far stretch to cover both bases. Harry hurried after him, wondering crossly just what he’d gotten himself into. He struggled to keep up with the other boy's long strides, always a half-step behind as Riddle led him through the winding halls.  
  
They passed familiar portraits on the way down, the people inside turning to stare at him. Harry began to count the paintings and catalogue those he recognized in an effort to distract himself from a constant bombardment of violent thoughts. Riddle was in front of him- look, there was those two painters grinning as they flicked paint at each other. Right there, right there, within arms reach- a group of women huddled around a table with cups of tea, gossiping and tossing their heads, noses in the air. It'd be so easy to just pull out his wand and curse him before he could even turn around- three men sit similarly to the women in the previous painting, besides the fact that they are far more aggravated, the one on the left waving a large knife around as he talked.

Riddle turned his head slightly, and there was a hint of a smirk on his lips. It’d be so simple. His wand was right in his grip and it would take Riddle at least a second to get his own out, plenty of time to cast a Stunning spell or disarm him. And then another moment to hex him into oblivion. Only Hermione's voice stopped him, once again her precise words banishing his doubts. It wouldn't do to commit a murder first thing in the past (and he wasn’t really the murdering type in the first place), who knows how it could affect the future. Would someone else take Riddle's place? Would his own friends and family be born?  
  
“Feeling alright, James?” Harry's head shot up, seeing Riddle's faux-concerned expression. Only a few minutes ago someone else had been genuinely asking him that same question, and in an even smaller timeframe than that, he had also included Riddle in the ‘kind stranger’ category. Harry relaxed his fingers one by one and nodded, avoiding eye contact as the other boy looked him up and down.

Harry glanced around, recognizing the gargoyles and Dumbledore's office door- set into a stone archway complete with carvings in an otherwise long and unassuming hallway. Soft light streamed in through the windows, and the sprawling Hogwarts grounds lay outside, the Forbidden Forest rising to swallow the land.  Feeling Riddle’s gaze still on him, Harry turned to examining the bits of dust floating through the air interchangeably with the smooth, grey stone of the ancient walls. Not giving up, but merely finding something of greater interest, Riddle turned to knock on the door instead.

Not a moment later a man dressed in odd turquoise robes appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Something settled over Riddle, an easy charm. His face smoothed over, a cherubic smile appearing. “Headmaster,” he greeted, but it wasn’t Dumbledore. He wasn’t wearing spectacles, and seemed much shorter, with silver-white hair curling to just below his shoulders and pale, wrinkled, skin. “This is James Evans, he's-”

“I was homeschooled,” Harry cut in, looking at Riddle's controlled expression of surprise out of the corner of his eye, “I'd like to enroll here.”

The man looked between them, eyes slightly out of focus, voice a touch dreamy as he spoke, “Oh, well thank you Tom for delivering Mr. Evans. It’s been such a long week- so many problems, all those complaints about missing familiars. . .I don’t recall receiving a notification.”

“You must have forgotten,” Harry said quickly. He was surprised that the Headmaster couldn’t hear his heart pounding half out of his chest. The sound of blood rushing in his ears drowned out all other sounds but their voices, and air didn’t seem to want to make its way into his lungs. Precious, precious air. The man nodded.

“Come on up, I suppose.” He seemed ancient, every step so slow and full of effort Harry could almost hear his bones creaking. He led the way up the stairs, long robes trailing behind him. Riddle followed as well, right at Harry's back, making him hyper-aware of his presence. In no way, shape, or form did he trust Riddle to be out of his sight.

They stepped into the office- Harry quickly stepping to the side- which was vastly different from how he remembered it. Though the room itself was the same, as well as the placement of the desk, everything else had changed. The shelves that usually lined the walls, covered in knick-knacks and various spinning or glowing objects, were now filled with old books. The chair in front of the orderly desk was filled by a smiling man in neat, old-fashioned clothing. A black vest over a crisp white shirt, and long hair tied back with a ribbon.

“I am Headmaster Dippet,” The wizened man said, then gestured to the man in the chair, “And this is our Transfiguration teacher- Professor Dumbledore. Professor, this is Mr. Evans.”

Harry blinked, wide-eyed at the man that had been ignoring him the past few months. Well, not this man. This man was younger, the lines in his face much softer and his hair, auburn streaked with silver. He had his spectacles, same as ever, but his eyes seemed somehow kinder. The young Dumbledore smiled politely at Harry, holding out a tin of candy. Harry shook his head, voice refusing to work.

“Evening, professor,” Riddle said curtly from behind him. His eyes were icy, and Harry laughed internally as Dumbledore's face turned to stone in return.

“Evening, Tom. Thank you for your help,” Dumbledore said, a clear dismissal. The Slytherin glowered at the use of his first name, then looked to Harry, raising his chin.

“I thought to walk him to the Great Hall when you finish. So he doesn't get lost.”

“Most kind of you, my boy,” Dippet interjected before Dumbledore could reply. He sat in his chair, a mustard-yellow overstuffed monstrosity, and waved his wand, pulling two more chairs up to the table. Harry thanked him quietly and took his seat, putting Dumbledore between him and Riddle.

“What did you say your name was?” Dumbledore scanned his face, blue eyes boring into Harry's like he could see his soul laid bare.

“I didn't,” Harry said, shrinking a bit, “James, sir.”

“James Evans, a muggle name,” the professor mused. Harry shied away from his observation- though his tone remained neutral. Dumbledore returned his attention to the tin of sweets, not offering any to Riddle.

“You said your guardians owled ahead? The letter must be somewhere around here,” Dippet said distractedly, already looking around.

“I. . .maybe the owl didn’t make it. . .” Harry muttered, though Dippet didn’t seem to notice as he rummaged through a drawer.

“I found him unsupervised in an upstairs corridor, despite having just arrived,” Riddle said, then rounded on Harry. “How did you get here without a teacher to receive you? Or a floo line open? And how long has a floo been anywhere near the seventh floor?” Stunned, Harry could do nothing but gape, mouth opening and closing as he tried to protest.

He should’ve thought of something earlier, maybe on the long way up, some half-logical story. Riddle had clearly been plotting to reveal him in front of the staff already, but what could he even say? I was Apparated? No, there were Wards. I walked there, and got lost? But why would I go all the way upstairs, and how would nobody have run into me. . .they directed me, but I didn’t know what they meant? Except he just _knew_ Riddle would go after whoever he described.

Dumbledore looked at him curiously, head tilted. This was it. This was really it, they would find him out and he’d be arrested and carted off to Azkaban. Then Voldemort would rise and he wouldn’t be there to stop him, and what would happen with him taken out of the equation? Who would die? Would Hermione and Ron catch him first year, or would they have never been set down the path of suspicion? And what about Ginny, Dobby, and Sirius- what about Cedric! He had sworn to Lucius Malfoy that he’d always be there.

 _‘Say something’,_ Harry begged internally. He tried to imprint it into Dumbledore, leaning so Riddle couldn’t see his expression. Internally, he willed the man to help him- say something, anything, _help me._

“Unsupervised?” Dippet repeated. He was beginning to feel lightheaded. A smirk tugged at the corner of Riddle’s lips, and Harry did not like that _at all._

And apparently, neither did Dumbledore. “I received an owl from Mr. Evans a few days ago,” he interjected, fixing Harry with a firm look. A weight came off his chest. “I’m afraid I completely forgot about it however, until Mr. Evans appeared. I imagine your parents flooed you into one of the old offices, no? They’ve been abandoned for years, we must have forgotten to regulate the lines there.”

A great, pressing thing, that he hadn’t realized was impeding his breathing, disappeared. Harry nodded along, trying to surreptitiously gulp in the air that suddenly became available, pursing his lips so he wouldn’t smile at the twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye. No matter how old or young, whether they had met before or not, he could always depend on him.

“James was flooed into a dusty, empty, room?” Riddle’s voice was light as he pointedly made eye contact with Dumbledore. It held an undertone of accusation. “With not a single soul to greet or direct him? On his very first day, how unfortunate. You really should keep a record of these things.”

“When you’ve been alive for so long, and done so much, even the most powerful man will begin to forget the occasional letter. Even if he remembers all his spells,” Dumbledore met his gaze levelly. The pair glared each other down, their mutual distaste displayed openly. Riddle sniffed, turning up his nose in disapproval, but Dumbledore didn’t budge.

“Do you have your school supplies?” Dippet asked, interrupting the tense moment. He carried on completely unaware as he rearranged his now messy drawer. The pair looked away, staring at Harry instead. Harry shifted, their combined focus unnerving him, and gestured to his bag and trunk. “Good, good. . .well, young man, welcome to Hogwarts! This is a very prestigious school, you know. Your parents were smart to send you here. Should have sent you earlier, in fact! Didn’t you get your letter all those years ago? Well, I suppose they might have just thrown it away. . .thrown out this opportunity. . .you know-”

“I’m sure Mr. Evans would like to eat tonight,” Dumbledore advocated. The Headmaster’s attention had been across the room, scanning the objects and books on it as he spoke, but now it drifted back to them.

“Your belongings will be brought up to your room- well, once we determine what your room is. You’ll be in a dorm with boys in your Year and House, and we have a tradition here. Ages old, goes all the way back to the Founders. Godric enchanted a hat, to have intelligence and wit- and to talk! Ah, the things they came up with,” Dippet said wistfully, and just when it looked like Dumbledore was going to cut in again, he continued. “The Sorting!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Riddle’s posture shift again. The Sorting suddenly seemed very personal, and he blanched at the idea of Riddle inspecting him as it happened. “I don’t think that’s necessary. . .” he had sounded far less confident than he meant to be.

“Nonsense!” Dippet exclaimed. He was passionate about the process, moving like a puppet on a string, in jerky movements that seemed to be without purpose. One after another until he arrived at his destination or completed the action, finally revealing the reason. Every excited step bounced him unnaturally high. “Every First Year at Hogwarts goes through this ceremony in front of the school. Your House is not only who you are, but also your family for the years to come. Tom here is a Slytherin, from the House of resourcefulness, cunning, and-”

“Headmaster,” Dumbledore came to the rescue again. “I’m sure the hat will explain. Everything else can be arranged over the next few days.”

Dippet turned to him, eyes turning sharper even as the rest of him deflated. He shook his head, and Harry could almost see marbles flying loose. “Sorry, friend. This old man’s half-spare.”

“So is this one,” Dumbledore agreed. Dippet looked like he was going to say something else, but the Professor quickly stepped in again. Harry silently thanked him as Dippet scooped up his wand, muttering a spell under his breath.

On the other side of the room was a dusty, tattered, clump of fabric- the vague placement of a face in its folds. High on top of a shelf, surrounded by a few spinning objects, but otherwise peacefully alone. It slid off under Dippet’s command, and straightened up, some of the wrinkles disappearing as it grew taller. Dumbledore stood and walked over to a raised sort of platform in the stone, pulling a stool out of the space between two of the bookshelves. The Hat bobbed over to where he was setting it, thankfully far from where Riddle was seated. It looked just like the one he had been Sorted on the first time. It seemed smaller now.

Harry refused to glance back as he crossed the room, feeling the burn of Riddle’s glare on his back. Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder as he passed, and surprised Harry with a covert wink as he grabbed the old hat out of the air. It stretched out further, and Harry caught a flash of a strange, fabric, grin, before it was sitting on his head.

“Hello,” Harry whispered, and the Sorting Hat slipped low on his forehead. It didn’t say anything for a moment, just hummed, and he could almost feel its magic pressing in through his skull, seeping into his brain.

“Harry Potter. I didn’t expect to see you here so soon,” it greeted, in low, rumbling tones.

Harry blinked in surprise, fidgeting with his glasses. “You know me?”

“I know everyone. . .” He could feel the Hat prodding around in his mind. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, holding a certain warmth to it, the signature familiar even if he hadn’t noticed it the last time. A smooth current of something, like lukewarm smoke, slipping in and out of his memories, pulling doors open and dipping into the darkest parts of his psyche. He heard snatches of what the Hat inspected- a snort of laughter from Ron, giggles from behind him, shouts from a painting. Then, a flash of green and the press of silver light against his eyelids. “Ah, I see. I don’t suppose you need a lecture on the Houses then, eh? No? Quite the predicament you’ve found yourself in.”

“Any advice?” Harry asked half-heartedly. He adjusted his glasses again, pushing the bridge up and down his nose.

“I don’t think you need it.” Harry begged to differ. The Hat laughed. “You’re very determined to solve it for yourself. To get back to the battle and help your friends. To teach great wizards. One might call that ambition.”

“I just want to help,” He answered, shifting at the phrasing of it. A feeling of overwhelming helplessness joined the mix. So many terrible things had happened, and even though he felt as if he solved them, they always came back to bite him. All of his solutions were running on finite time, and when it ran out, everything snapped back into place, even worse than before. “It’s all I can do.”

“But what more do you want? The goal that seeps into every choice you make. To defeat the Dark Lord?” Harry pursed his lips, silent. “I can help you there. I was wrong to put you in Gryffindor. You made such good friends, but now none of them are here. There’s no harm in a switch.”

“They say you’re never wrong,” Harry countered.

“Everybody’s wrong on occasion- some more often than others.”

“I thought I had a choice.” He couldn’t help the accusatory notes creeping into his voice. As much as he had tried to think of Slytherin as something more than a house of bullies, and look only to the traits themselves, he couldn’t help it. Cunning, ambition- it was a House of backstabbers, liars, and cheats to him. Except, he knew himself, and he knew that he wasn’t any one of those.

“You’re here for a reason, Harry,” the Hat said, in low, rumbling tones.

“Everything happens for a reason,” Harry quoted dryly. The Hat chuckled, and he remembered all over again that the it could read his mind, could see all his thoughts and doubts. It would make its decision anyways. “To fulfill your purpose you’ll need to be close.”

“What are you saying,” Harry said. It wasn’t a question.

“Do you want to stop Tom?”

Harry paused, fighting an internal battle. Only a few feet away Riddle was leaning in intently, distractedly commenting on the conversation of the two men as he watched Harry. Memories of his first day at Hogwarts rose; waiting in a clump as one by one they were summoned to sit before the student body. Four tables of vibrant colors, hundreds of faces turned towards him as the Hat was placed on his head. It had seemed only a few minutes before his name had come up, each student barely taking any time to be Sorted. He remembered Malfoy, who had the Hat calling out a House before it even touched his head.

It had been longer than that by now, and Riddle seemed to be very aware of the fact that Hatstalls were rare (though Hermione would say it was hardly that), and the calculating look in his eye only made Harry’s desire to get away even stronger. Escaping short term, however, would only continue the plight for everyone.

The Hat hummed, encouraging. Harry sighed, resigning himself to whatever would happen in the following days, or weeks, or months, or Merlin-knows-how-long. He sealed his own fate. “Yes.”

“Good luck, Harry. They’re depending on you,” the Hat murmured. He braced himself for the final announcement as the Hat opened its mouth to boom out, “Slytherin!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to my wonderful beta-readers, my beloved and the talented ZCelestial, who can be found at https://w.tt/2DAgoSX


	3. The Snake Nest

 

“Slytherin. Bloody Slytherin.”

“That’s what it said.”

“Sod off.” Harry glared holes into the side of Riddle’s head, but the boy only raised his hands and shrugged.

“You seem to be bitter about your Sorting. I merely wonder why,” Riddle said innocently. Harry glowered at him, grinding his jaw. “I don’t suppose you had a better House in mind.”

“I’m not completely clueless, you know. Being homeschooled doesn’t mean I can’t read,” Harry snapped. He resolutely turned his gaze down and away, only to be met with a panel of green down the front of his robes. His nose wrinkled automatically as he smoothed a hand over the Slytherin crest on his chest, hating that his uniform had shifted, seemingly of its own accord. In fact, the style itself seemed to be different. Double clasps at the neck coiled into the fabric of his robes, and there was no longer a colored inside lining to it, rather a strip of emerald while the rest remained black.

He glanced over at Riddle, seeing that the other Slytherin had a wool jacket over a sweater, though Harry’s own sweater was black instead of grey, and he didn’t have such a jacket. It seemed Madam Malkin’s magic only went so far, and he’d be having to buy (or steal) a uniform after all.

Riddle caught his eye, and before Harry could look away, fixed him with a dubious look. “Your father was in Gryffindor.”

“Yes, you keep bringing that up, is there a problem?”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear that his son is now a rival,” Riddle said, though his trademark charm-face didn’t match his words.

“My father’s dead.” Riddle’s mouth snapped shut. Harry smirked internally as the Slytherin’s step faltered.

“So is mine,” Riddle offered quietly, looking like he’d been slapped. “Or, at least I think he is- I’ve never met him.”

Harry wasn't reassured in the slightest. Solidly refusing to have any sympathy whatsoever, Harry just shook his head. The bastard was more likely to dance over his father’s grave than anything- and hadn’t Riddle been the one to kill him, anyways?

The graveyard pushed its way to the forefront of his mind again. He remembered the stone pressed against his back and across his chest, pinning him against it with no hope of escape. Voldemort had trapped him against the grave of Tom Riddle Sr., and the memories from the diary back in Second Year made it clear what had happened there.

Riddle had killed his own father. Harry couldn’t even begin to imagine doing the same.

Riddle pursed his lips, and Harry jolted, hackles raised, but the boy said nothing more. His stared straight ahead, leading Harry through a pair of tall, wooden doors. He could hear a loud cacophony of voices and laughter from beyond them, and a sprinkle of water was thrown over his furnace of a heart. As he stepped through the doorway, he thought immediately that he’d never heard a better sound in his life.

The Great Hall hadn't changed in fifty years. Harry looked up, admiring for the thousandth time the towering, colorful ceiling. The sun was gone, only a tinge of orange, pink, and purple curling in the edges of the sky. There was a dusky glimmer of stars beyond the clouds, and Harry remembered how happy the ceiling's beauty always made him.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Riddle's voice was so quiet, so gentle, that it didn't interrupt Harry's thoughts. His words simply slipped in with them, and when Harry turned to look at his face, it was open and awed. Harry was taken aback- he was so young. Not a crease, not a worry line, not a single mark marring his face.

Riddle shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the ceiling, and the delicate moment was broken. His face went carefully blank, features smoothing out. The barest hints of a smile disappeared into it.

He said nothing more, just spun sharply and strode towards the Slytherin table without a glance behind him to see if Harry was keeping up. Instinct glued his feet to the ground and directed him to the other side of the Great Hall. A table full of red; excited students chattering and raucous laughter. One of the Gryffindors- a boy with long, messy brown hair- stood up and threw a piece of bread across the table, grinning all the way. It hit a girl right on the forehead, and she responded in kind immediately. Harry's chest ached just watching them. He missed the easy banter and chaotic fun of his- now old- House. Why did he let this happen. . .

“Hey.” Someone nudged his shoulder. “You're Evans, the transfer, right?”

Harry froze, stiffly following the voice back to its source. “How did you know?” He saw the smirk first, then the grey eyes, then the pale blond hair. The boy next to him was the spitting image of Draco- aristocratic features, arrogant air, and all.

“I have my ways. Abraxas Malfoy, at your service.” He stuck out his leg and gave a low bow, offering his arm the whole way. Harry wondered if he was supposed to bow back, not that he’d be doing it anyway. He shook Malfoy’s hand. “Not used to Pureblood customs, eh?”

Harry’s eyebrows jumped a mile of their own accord. “Sorry I don’t understand all that pretentious shite,” Harry answered, not sounding the least apologetic, and Abraxas grinned.

“Fair enough,” he said, and Harry tracked the exact moment he locked eyes with Riddle. Even from across the room, he had an effect on Malfoy, who straightened up even further. “The King summons us.”

“The King,” Harry scoffed. It had been clear from what the diary showed him that the fact Riddle was still in school at all was a testament to his acting skills, or to Dumbledore’s tendency to give too many chances. Although, in the latter case, Harry was in no position to judge. “You readily admit he’s your little pack leader. I’m not interested.”

“Not interested-”

“Do I have to sit with you?” He couldn’t help but let his eyes wander back to the red-and-gold table, wanting more than anything to plop down among them. To laugh at Ron while he shoveled down food and rant with Hermione over Umbridge’s latest policies.

Malfoy pulled a face. “You can sit with the Gryffindors, if you'd like, but I don't think they'd be very happy about it.”

“Sounds like a fantastic idea,” Harry said, doubling back. He was fully prepared to sit with a table of glaring lions if it meant he didn’t have to deal with the snake nest. Malfoy laughed.

“Oh come on, we're not a bad lot,” he said, grabbing Harry’s arm. He let himself be stopped, staring up at Malfoy’s earnest face.

“You only say that because you're part of Riddle's little following,” Harry protested, and the other boy slowly released him.

“You've got a lot of judgements for a stranger,” He responded.

“Your reputation precedes you.”

Malfoy grinned wolfishly. “Doesn’t sound like a bad thing to me.” There was a startled laugh, loud and sharp- and Harry realized it was his. He stared in disbelief as Malfoy reached for him again, tugging him towards the table, talking all the way. “I think you’ll find that we’re not half as bad as they say. Where’d you get your information, anyways? I hope you haven’t been talking to the other Houses, they’ve got all sorts of biases against us.”

“Reasonably!” Harry said, “It’s because of all that Pureblood-supremacism.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, saying, “That’s the excuse they all like to make. There are plenty of supremacists in Gryffindor too, and Ravenclaw- although I suppose Hufflepuffs are a little better with it. But why bother sticking up to their own people when they can say _we’re_ the root of all evil.” Now, that gave Harry a pause. The blond just shrugged.

“Gentlemen.” The pair startled, grey eyes tearing away from his- and going to the floor. All of Malfoy’s bravado melted away.

“Riddle,” Harry said, and elbowed Malfoy. His head snapped up, and he saw the moment Riddle gave him a certain _look,_ because then his shoulders were straightening in false confidence and he was sweeping onto the bench. He gestured for Harry to join them, offering a smile- and he could distinctly see how forced it was.

There was no way that was going to happen to him- he wouldn’t bow his head for anyone, especially not mini-Voldemort. Harry just nodded to them with a ‘no thanks’ and tried to step away quickly.

“Where are you going?” Riddle called. Harry winced, scanning the table for an empty spot.

“To find a seat.” A whisper rose up from beside him, and he narrowed his eyes at a gaggle of Slytherins stealing glances at him, talking amongst themselves. Further down the table were more straight-backed people with quizzical stares, one by one turning to him like a ripple through the crowd.

“There's one right here.”

“Great,” Harry muttered to himself, “Bloody perfect.” He scanned the table one last time, feeling a slight burn in his cheeks at all of the attention on him. He sat down.

A slight smirk tipped up Riddle’s lips as he waved a hand towards Harry, instantly drawing the attention of several boys around him. Some of their faces were familiar- in an odd way. As if he’d met them in a dream. “This is James Evans, as I’m sure you’ve all heard. James- meet Atticus Avery-” A head of carefully combed hair rose from behind a book, giving Harry a short nod before diving back into it. “You’ve met Abraxas already, and this here is Rodolphus Lestrange-”

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Lestrange, a wild-haired boy, said, his smile sharp.

“And this- where's Orion?”

Malfoy caught Harry’s eye, wiggling his eyebrows. “Him and Walburga went off somewhere. . .” he said suggestively.

Harry snorted and said a little aggressively, “Aren't they cousins?”

“Since when has that mattered?” Lestrange cut in. Harry have him an unimpressed look, face tight. “Now, now, Braxie!”

Abraxas had leaned in to say something to Lestrange, who erupted into manic laughter. Something about it unsettled Harry. It was hollow, somehow, and definitively piercing, ringing in his ears unlike any laugh he’d heard before. Another icy finger stroked his spine, his hair raising, and his fingers twitched towards his wand again.

He opened his mouth, to snap something, anything, to shut them up, but his words caught in his throat. And then, it was too late, because Riddle was already gliding in with a question. “Have you been studying family trees?”

“What?” Harry said.

His eyes found the Slytherin, who was ever-so-elegantly leaning an elbow on the table. He gave Harry a sly look, shrugging innocuously. “You knew they were related as a new student with a muggle name.”

The rest of the group had become just as still as Harry, all looking at him with varying degrees of suspicion. Malfoy was smirking from beside him. And what could he say? _Yes, I love, uh, historical families and lineages, quite fascinating that is, or_ \- oh, and he’d had to ask himself that question too many times today. _What can I even say?_ And every time, he blanked.

"I'm a Half-Blood," Harry said. Riddle looked unsatisfied.

Lestrange leaned towards him, eyes alight- “Everyone knows them,” Malfoy said. Lestrange’s attention shifted to him, taking a weight off of Harry’s shoulders. He kept the momentum going even as Riddle’s face turned cold- well, cold-er. “The Great and Ancient Noble House of Pretentiously Long Titles.”

Lestrange cackled again. “Don’t beat the poor dogs when they’re not here to defend themselves!”

Harry shot to his feet in the sparse moments where they weren’t _staring_ at him. Another thing that had happened far too often today, and this week, and this year, and every one before since he’d arrived at Diagon Alley. He’d been happy to have some attention, to have people care, but the moment he found out it was all for the wrong reasons he’d hated it. And there was still no peace, they just wouldn’t. Stop. _Staring._ “Abraxas!” he cried quickly, unthinking. The blonde boy arched a brow. “Show me to the dorms. Please.”

The laughter abated and Riddle looked at him, questioning. “You just arrived,” Riddle said.

“Well I’m bloody tired,” Harry snapped. The table was silent, and even Avery’s attention was pulled from his book to Harry. The moment drew out longer. Abraxas stood up, placing a hand on his elbow out of sight from the others.

“Come on, then,” he said quietly. Harry felt a coil of anger again as Abraxas paused, waiting for Riddle to give a slow nod of approval before gathering his things. “You all enjoy the feast, and I’ll show this strapping lad to our rooms.”

He made it sound a lot more scandalous than it was, eliciting a small laugh from Lestrange, though there was no other response from the table. Riddle waved them on, an icy smile on his face.

“We’ll see you soon,” he said, rather ominously, and Harry wanted to slap him across his pompous face.

“Come on,” Abraxas said again, pushing him away. It was all wrong, the normalcy of Hogwarts in contrast to this little scene. Riddle was steering the ship, and taking them all the wrong way, and there was something to add to his list of things he despised: Riddle’s stupid charm-face. That look he got when Dippet showed up, or when he had run into him by the tapestry (and that had been such a short time ago), the smoothed-over features, eyebrows raising slightly and eyes understanding, a half smile on his face. That stupid, fake, cold, dead, disgusting, little half smile.

Abraxas hurriedly ushered them past tables of students, some of which turned to stare. Again. Harry thought he heard Abraxas mutter something about them minding their own business as they turned into the corridor. They walked in silence for a few more paces, Harry trying to figure out how to avoid Riddle permanently, and he missed another shift in Abraxas’ posture. The next thing he knew, Abraxas was pulling him around the next corner and looming up in front of him, gripping his arms tightly.

“You can’t do that,” Abraxas hissed. He had landed Harry with his face dangerously close to a torch, the fire warming his face as his wide-eyed surprise narrowed.

“I can do whatever I damn well please,” Harry said, chin jutting up.

“Not around him.”

“Watch me.”

“James, you-” Abraxas paused, about to say something else, but just sighed. He stepped back, letting go of Harry and pinching the bridge of his nose. The torch cast heavy shadows under his eyes and a strip of hair fell out of its gelled position. He looked disheveled and tired and Harry almost backed off. Almost.

“Why do you let him call the shots?”

“I don’t,” Abraxas said.

“Yes you do,” Harry insisted, “I didn’t miss all those little nods from him. You’re practically his lapdog.”

“What would you know, you haven’t even been here for five minutes!”

“ _And yet,_ ” Harry said. Abraxas sighed again, taking another step back.

“Look, it’s your first day. I’m just trying to help.”

“Thanks for your concern,” Harry said shortly, and this time there was no protest.

“Come on,” he said for the third time. Harry could see something closing in his eyes. Abraxas started out and Harry followed. They turned down another corridor, one far darker than the previous, the main source of light coming from the sparse windows lining it. “However you choose to talk to Tom- that’s your prerogative. Do what you like. Die for all I care.”

“Thanks,” Harry said dryly. Abraxas snorted. Light and dark alternated, throwing shadows across his aristocratic face then colors through his pale hair. If he stared long enough, he could pick out all the smaller ways in which him and Draco looked similar; the slant of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips and jaw, and a hint of something in his voice.

“Watch your step, would you? At the very least, you can’t die on my watch,” Abraxas said. Harry squinted into an archway of darkness. It was strange going into the dungeons and knowing that was where he was going to sleep, knowing that was where his temporary home was.

Torches blazed to light beside them, and the fire continued appearing farther and farther down the staircase until it twisted around. He’d never taken this route either, although he supposed it made sense that there was a path to the Slytherin Commons separate from the trafficked classroom one. Abraxas suggested for him to steady himself on his first trip, so Harry grabbed ahold of the wrought iron handrails, carefully going down the slick steps.

“It’s not so bad here, you know.” Abraxas broke the silence. His voice bounced off the walls, thrown back at him from every direction. “I know some of the people are troublesome, but really- the couches are comfortable, and the beds. We always have a fire going, and plenty of interesting portraits to talk to. There’s open space- oh! And the lake! You’ll see it once we get there.”

Abraxas grinned, a little childlike, and Harry felt a sudden sense of gratitude. He managed a tentative smile in return. “How far are the kitchens?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.

“It’s nice to know _someone_ in Slytherin has their priorities sorted out,” Abraxas said. “The kitchens are down a couple corridors, closer to the Hufflepuff Common Room. We sneak in there a lot though, it’s good for midnight snacks.”

Abraxas swung to a stop, turning to the wall in front of them. By all counts it was a random stretch of brick, dark and tinted green, covered in small streams of water sluggishly dripping to the floor. Indistinguishable from the rest of the dungeons. “ _Aere perennius_.”

A crack of green light shone through as the bricks pulled apart, small splits appearing in the shape of a roundish entrance. It reminded Harry of Diagon Alley, in some respects.

“What does that mean?” Harry said. He internally crossed his fingers that he wouldn’t be saying something prejudiced without knowing it. After all, if bigoted passwords existed in the 1990s, they must’ve been ten times worse decades prior.

“More lasting than bronze,” Abraxas answered automatically. Harry breathed a sigh of relief for small mercies, then realized it wasn’t exactly common knowledge.

“Where’d you learn that?”

Abraxas shrugged. “Tom knows a lot. Say it with me- Aere. . .” he led Harry in several rounds of saying it to make sure he had it down before pushing the section of brick, letting the mass swing forwards like a door. “And now, the great reveal.”

The Slytherin Common Room sprawled before him, a great space with bookshelves lining the dark walls and pillars supporting a low, rounded ceiling. Harry stepped down carefully at Abraxas’ warning, then moved farther into the room until intricate carvings revealed themselves- swirls and sparks and snakes winding up the pillars. In the back were two black staircases twisting down to an even lower floor, and before them were several sets of couches arranged around fine carpets and tables. The entire room was swathed in greenish light, flickering from the bright hues of the fireplace, the lamps hanging down throughout, and shining through the tinted window.

“What do you think?” Abraxas asked, gesturing grandly as he spun around the room.

“It's. . .not what I was expecting,” Harry said. And that was an understatement. It was peaceful, and elegant, and far cleaner than the last time he’d seen it. The year he’d broken in using Polyjuice potion the room had looked closer to an ominous, slimy, cave. Hardly somewhere you’d expect Pureblood children to be regularly sent to.

 _Filch really let the place go,_ Harry thought, amused.

“This is the best part of it all,” Abraxas said. He crossed to the wall, which was really a window that reached from the floor to halfway to the ceiling, and from one side of the room to the other. Beyond it was the lake, a murky shade of brown and green in the darkness, just on the edge of being totally black. “Sometimes the merpeople come up to say hello, and we’ve taught a lot of the First Years how to communicate with them. They know all sorts of interesting things, plenty of secrets included.”

Harry placed his hand on the glass and felt a strange sense of calm. The lake didn’t feel like it would be pressing in, ready to crush him with the slightest give, the way it felt in his head. Instead, it was a passive outside presence, moving with the tide beside their lives. “What do you teach them? Another language?”

As far as Harry knew, merpeople could be understood alright when you were underwater with them, but on the surface all you could get was unintelligible shrieks. Hardly something you could teach a First Year to imitate, or at least, he assumed so.

Abraxas moved his hands, forming a little dance with his fingers as he smiled. “Sign language,” he said finally, “I’m not particularly good at it, but I try. And the merpeople are always happy to help. They don’t really get much company- half of Hogwarts doesn’t even know they exist.”

A silver fish zipped by, and Harry offered no reply but, “You should teach me.”

“This very week. And preferably when it’s a bit brighter out,” Abraxas promised. Harry nodded. Malfoy flashed another grin, though it was softer and smaller- less grand than all the ones before. He nodded towards the stairs. “There’s another window in our room.”

Abraxas led the way once again, quietly explaining the dorm arrangements and warning him to watch his step once again as they traipsed to the boys’ dormitories. They were on the left, while the right staircase led to the girls’ dorms, and there were two rooms on either side of the hall for each Year. They ran First through Seventh, all the way at the end where another window displayed darkness. The hall was much the same as the Common Room, intricate and low-ceilinged, though the lamps hanging here were small, round spheres of light.

“I don’t believe all of these rooms have ever been filled at once,” Abraxas said as he drew his wand. “Well. At least in recent years, that is. Slytherin’s been a rather small House for generations. . .give me your hand.”

Harry offered it tentatively, and Abraxas pressed the tip of his pale wand to Harry’s palm. A bit of purple smoke curled into his skin, though Abraxas promptly pulled away and pushed the smoke into the door instead.

“What was that?”

“Recognition spell, I suppose. It makes the door let you in automatically, and locks it to everyone else.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised, involuntarily impressed. “That’s smart.”

Abraxas shrugged. “Slytherins value their privacy.” Harry could relate to that. There were many parts of his life he never had the luxury of privacy about. “Time for great reveal the sequel.”

This time there was a real door to push open, and Abraxas threw it wide until it struck the wall with a bang, startling Harry enough to elicit a small laugh. They grinned at each other for a moment, and Abraxas swept an arm towards the inside, Harry obediently entering. It looked exactly like the Gryffindor dorm.

There was darker wood, and more carvings on the furniture, and emerald where there was once scarlet, or black and silver where gold would be, but it was unmistakably the same design. The window in the back was the same too- though it was a view of pitch black, and Harry couldn’t wrap his mind around that single detail. Seeing water instead of air, Grindylows instead of owls. Owls- Hedwig!

The snowy owl was back at home with everyone else, which left him with no friends, no uniform, no school supplies, no backstory, and no messenger. “They brought down your belongings.” Harry’s gaze darted to where Abraxas was toeing his stolen trunk. He’d better get around to returning that.

While Abraxas busied himself with preparing his own books and nightclothes, Harry popped open the trunk, hoping nobody would notice it was missing. A red-paneled robe was strewn across the top- he had to have a specific place in mind in order to transport it, and he’d simply imagined the foot of his own bed up in the Gryffindor dorm. Underneath that, a stack of school books shoved to the left and folded clothes on the right, with odds and ends of everything from socks to chocolate frogs gathered around. When he nudged the trunk aside, his bag peeked out from under the bed.

Harry pulled it out victoriously, and dug through to see if he had any money. Though the small pouch within only contained a few measly sickles, it would have to do. “Is that the bathroom?”

The brown door had the same placement as the one in his old dorm. “Uh-huh,” Abraxas said, dropping him a wink as he strode across the room to steal it. Harry rolled his eyes as the door shut, then drew his wand to cast a Doubling charm on the trunk. He checked that the contents were all copied as well, though he’d eventually have to get real supplies to replace everything. Doubling charms only lasted so long before the items began to degrade. He waved his wand again, sending the original back to the Gryffindor dorms.

“Did you want to sit in the Commons for a while?” Abraxas’ voice carried through the door. Harry stared at it, with a feeling of- what was it, fondness?- as he heard humming from beyond.

“No,” he called back, “I think I’ll just be going to bed.”

“If you say so!” Abraxas Malfoy was. . .surprisingly tolerable. Harry snorted, then stifled a laugh at the thought. So many strange things could happen in a day.

“Hey, who shares the dorm with you?” Harry asked, as he rifled through the trunk again. He was pleased to find a set of pyjamas, though when he clambered onto the bed and closed the curtains to try them on, they hung far too loosely off his smaller frame.

“It’s just Tom and Avery. The other Fifth Year boys have a full room across the hall.” Harry groaned internally. _Just my luck._ He heard the bathroom door swing open. “If any of them give you trouble, tell me. I’ll take care of it.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” Harry sighed. He had a sneaking suspicion Abraxas was warning him. Riddle had already made it more than clear that he wasn’t a Pureblood to the others- and how had he dealt with that himself? It was rather curious, as Evans might be a muggle name, but so was Riddle. If he could do it, Harry could too. “Thank you.”

He fidgeted with the oversized shirt, but couldn’t remember a spell to fix it. Instead, he cast Sticking charms on the curtains and a Silencing charm for good measure. He didn’t want anyone hearing him screaming himself awake in the middle of the night. Especially not Riddle.

Harry flopped back onto the bed, glowering at the green sheets, green pillows, green curtains, green everything (although it was just the same in Gryffindor Tower). Why did he agree to this. Why. It had been a fleeting second of bravery, or stupidity, take your pick, to let the Hat put him in Riddle’s House. And all for some ‘great’ purpose, like they always said, and like he always agreed to.

 _I’m too old for this,_ Harry thought. _I’ve faced more than my fair share._ At least then he’d had Ron and Hermione to back him up. Through every struggle, every fight, even this year. He’d come back from summer wound up and angry with a rapidly growing desire to punch the next person that tried to speak to him. And they’d dealt with him anyways. . .

He startled at the sound of the door, realizing he’d managed to drift off a bit. For how long, he didn’t know. Footsteps, even and light, approached his bed.

“Don’t.” Abraxas’ voice was whisper-quiet. “He’s sleeping.”

Harry held his breath, hearing it all too loudly in the quiet of the dorm. The other person didn’t answer. The footsteps sounded again, walking around his bed and to the one beside it instead. He waited a minute, then another, but there were no more words exchanged and his eyelids felt unreasonably heavy considering the shortened day. He’d been unconscious for hours, that was sleep right. . .he pulled his glasses off, arm flopping to the side not a moment later as darkness swallowed him up.

“There’s something not right about him,” Harry heard, before sleep took him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm so, thoughts anyone? Honestly Abraxas barely existed in my plot layout, but once I started writing this chapter he kind of. . .took over. Sometimes characters just have a will of their own.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and thank you to my brilliant beta-readers: my beloved, and my fellow HP fanfic writer, ZCelestial. Find her at: https://w.tt/2DAgoSX


	4. Why Me?

_ Blood, blood, blood. Blood on his hands, blood on his robes, blood on his face, in his hair, running from his eyes like tears. Red- vivid, red- a haze over everything, colouring his skin, sinking into it. His veins were tearing open, splitting right through his flesh, tendons tearing through his wrists and splattering more red, red, red, in his face. _

_ “No, no, no, no.” His voice was a broken record, scratching into nothingness. He couldn’t hear himself, but he could feel every sound tearing at his throat like sandpaper. “Cedric. No, no, no, wake up- Cedric- no- Cedric, wake up, no no no-” _

“CEDRIC!”

Harry’s eyes snapped open to darkness. Sparks exploded in the corners of his vision, fluttering down from the ceiling and spinning round and round. . .

“Cedric,” he said again, though it came out so choked it was barely audible. He heaved in a deep breath, trying to force his body into stillness, force his lungs to just- inhale! Inhale! Just breathe, just breathe, just breathe.

He wanted to tell himself that it wasn’t real, that everything was fine and dandy, but how could he? Cedric  _ was  _ dead. Harry had seen him go down, saw the light go out of his eyes, his father screaming for his dead child over his limp body. Someone who had helped him when few others would, when half the school thought he was an attention hog and a cheat. Someone who had always had faith in him- dead.

Dead, dead, dead, like they all would be- Harry screwed his eyes shut, shaking his head as if he could throw out every thought. He fumbled for his glasses, quickly finding them teetering on the edge of the bed. He thanked everything sacred they weren’t broken.

Harry took another deep breath, giving himself a moment of mental preparation as he adjusted his glasses before drawing open the curtains. The. . . oddly coloured curtains. He looked around. The room appeared pretty much as it always did, but so many little things were off. Muted green light flickered through the windows, illuminating the sleeping forms around him.

_ Well, shit,  _ Harry thought. It hadn’t been a dream. Or this part, at least, hadn’t been part of some massive messed-up concoction of his own mind. At least it’d only been a night, just one, meaning there was still a slim chance he could be in a dream. Maybe a coma. That’d be favorable in comparison. Unfortunately, he felt very much awake.

There were only three occupied beds around him, and Harry immediately recognized the head of wispy blond hair that belonged to Abraxas Malfoy. That made the other boy Orion, and left the third bed with closed curtains Riddle’s. Another ‘ _ of course’  _ for the books.

Harry gathered up his wand and threw on the first uniform he found, changing as quietly as possible in the dead-silent room. The faintest of sounds came from the lake: a muted, rushing sort of wave overtop of the sleeping boys’ breathing. Harry cast a quiet  _ Tempus,  _ reading 5:45 A.M. If there was one thing to be grateful for about his nightmares, it’s that they got him up earlier than Riddle.

A collection of random books stuffed into his bag and a silencing spell over his feet, Harry worked his way to the door, fiddling with the knob for many moments too long to be comfortable. “Come on. . .” Harry said lowly, searching it for a lock or latch or whatever it was that was keeping it from budging. His heart stuttered as one of the boys shifted in their bed. He held still, waiting to see if they would say anything, but they didn’t stir again. Harry closed his hand over the knob once more, a purple puff of smoke immediately rising.

“What?” he muttered, the knob suddenly turning. He glanced over his shoulder to ensure that the trio was still sound asleep before finally slipping out the door, shutting it behind him with a bare snick of sound.

He cast  _ Lumos  _ to light his way, careful not to trip on the steps on his way up. The Common Room was empty, and eerie in the quiet, but the lake. . .it was beautiful. The sun hadn’t quite risen yet, but the barest rays of light were shining through the glass. Seaweed waved him on and small fish swam past lazily, all little creatures going about their way like nothing was wrong. Harry considered flopping down on one of the couches, but he didn’t want to be around when the other Slytherins started coming up. The  _ other  _ Slytherins. His green robes felt unnatural. 

Harry stalked over to the entrance, ready to turn his wand to it to try and figure out how it worked, but it slid open before he could, bricks shifting apart of their own accord. The corridor beyond was even darker, and he didn’t much like the idea of spending so much time underground. Or rather, in a part of the dungeons so-  _ slimy.  _ He was sure that though the Hufflepuffs had a lower-level Common Room, it was far sunnier than this.

“Professor!” Harry blinked in surprise as he spotted Dumbledore. His form appeared out of the darkness, like a monster that had been waiting to strike. The man was standing by one of the windows, looking out onto the grounds wistfully.

“Good morning, James,” he greeted. His eyes glowed under the light from Harry’s wand.

“What are you doing down here?” Harry asked, putting his wand away. The window lit up Dumbledore’s profile, smaller and younger and more. . .kind. He didn’t carry all the weight his older self did, and it showed even in the way he held himself. “Standing in the dark?”

“I came to talk to you,” Dumbledore said, gesturing down the hall. “Shall we?”

“I-” Harry’s feet were rooted to the ground. He searched Dumbledore’s face, seeing a practiced calm reflected back at him. A polite interest. Harry didn’t want polite interest. He wanted- well, a small part of him wanted someone that was going to panic over his situation so he didn’t have to. Wanted someone to rant and pace and dole out all the craziness he felt building up inside but couldn’t bring himself to express. “Professor, I’ve had. . .a- an emergency. An incident. Something’s happened. I- I don’t know where to start but. . .”

“You trust me?” Dumbledore asked. There wasn’t a chance he didn’t already know the answer. Harry nodded, fidgeting with his wand. “Go from the beginning. Ignore what’s happened, and tell me- who are you?”

Harry took a deep, steadying breath. “Well, first off- my name isn’t James.”

~~~

He’d avoided breakfast. And lunch. He’d avoid dinner too if he could help it.

“And you say it just, went off?”

“Yeah,” Harry stared at his hands, tracing his thumb over the words  _ ‘I must not tell lies’  _ scratched in thin, white, lines. Dumbledore was pacing, in his own way, flitting back and forth between the chalkboard and his desk: fingers steepled together, thoughtfully staring off into space. “It was- weird. Calming, in a way, which felt obviously wrong.”

“Calming?” Harry nodded, reaching for another of the sandwich quarters the professor left for him. The class situation, his new schedule for however long he’d be staying in 1941, had been sorted out after a long talk with Dippet. They’d collectively decided that he didn’t have to start until the next day, and the moment that business was concluded Dumbledore had dragged him back to the Defense room.

Flicks of his wand had laid out all the information they did and didn’t know, and the list was heavily disproportionate. The  _ ‘things we don’t know’  _ column reached to the bottom of the board, while there was barely two lines on the other side. Dumbledore circled back to the board, staring at it almost distastefully while Harry tapped his feet against the desk.

He had hope that Dumbledore would know something, anything, that could help him- but alas, no such luck. “Harry, I’m sorry to say it, but I don’t think anything about this exists yet- none of the research that could help, or some version of the device itself,” Dumbledore said. The use of his real name warmed him.

“Maybe the Unspeakables know something,” Harry suggested, but Dumbledore didn’t respond.

“Why are you here? Why you?” Dumbledore asked the board. Harry didn’t have an answer. “I’m sure it has something to do with Mr. Riddle, no? I always knew that boy was trouble, from the first day I picked him up.”

“Professor?” His eyes snapped back into focus, turning to Harry. “Why did you do it, then? Why let him come to Hogwarts?”

There were chalk streaks down his vest, hair was falling from its careful braid, and his eyes hadn’t settled once in the last half hour. “I had faith in that boy. I thought he could be something better. I thought we could teach him to be better. But then- he hated me. Hated me and charmed everyone else until I couldn’t be rid of him, even if I wanted to.”

“Be rid of him?” Harry stiffened.

Dumbledore’s face turned disapproving, though he tried to wash it away with a softer look. “Haven’t you been caught in a war all your life? You tell me, James, is there another way out of this? Do you really think Tom isn’t so far down the path to destruction that he can’t be turned back, that there is some other answer.”

“Yes.” The answer came, unbidden, and when Dumbledore stared at him he said it again. “Yes. I mean, he’s still a kid, isn’t he? Or my age but- that’s not too late. He hasn’t  _ done  _ anything. Not really. Not yet.”

He knew that he should hate Riddle. By all rights, he should- and he did, to a degree, but  _ Merlin,  _ Riddle was his age! Even through the short interactions, and from what Harry knew of Voldemort, he might be an absolute tosser, a two-faced liar, and an obsessively controlling person but. . .he hadn’t done anything yet. Drastic, at least. He didn’t deserve to just, be killed- even if Harry wanted to end it, wanted more than anything to end him and save his parents- it wasn’t right.

Dumbledore seemed to catch onto the change in his face, and how his hands had a white-knuckled grip on his desk. And then he did the oddest thing- he smiled. “I understand why the Hat placed you in Slytherin. Such ambition. . .you’ll do great things.” Harry didn’t like that tone. He didn’t like the repetition either- he still couldn’t understand being a Slytherin. “Will you follow through on your word?”

“On my word. . .” Harry’s jaw was set to avoid gaping at him. “You want  _ me  _ to change his course?”

“Who else,” Dumbledore said, “But the one who knows him best.” His eyes had that twinkle Harry had seen a thousand times before. It had been a comfort to see Dumbledore, even if he looked different because his mind was still the same- and once his mind was set, and there was no changing it. Harry always ended up doing what Dumbledore wanted.

“How?”

“Leave your books here, I’ll get you sorted out with the right ones for your year. Start things simple. Go to class, take a look at the Quidditch team. Go to dinner,” Dumbledore smiled again, knowingly. “Start by being his friend.”

“He doesn’t  _ have  _ friends,” Harry grumbled. He reached for one last sandwich, but in a flash Dumbledore was beside him, sweeping it to the other side of his desk.

“Dinner starts in an hour. I’ll talk to the Headmaster about making Tom your guide. A new student will need some assistance.” Harry gave him an odd look, slowly climbing off the desk he had taken residence on.

“You’re going to be Headmaster, someday,” Harry said.

“I’m flattered by the idea.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled again. “Go on, make a few friends. You’ll be happier if you do.” He said it like he knew Harry wouldn’t be getting home any time soon.

He reluctantly collected his things. “What do  _ you  _ think, Professor?”

Dumbledore ushered him towards the door, past row upon row of old-fashioned desks. “I suppose you’ll prove it to me either way,” Dumbledore said. Cryptically. As always.

Harry sighed, but nodded, and let himself be pushed out into the corridor. The door shut heavily behind him, and he took a moment to lean against the wall and ponder his favorite question:  _ why me?  _

It had all happened to fast. The decision with the Hat, the decision with Dumbledore. They hardly gave him time to think, expecting him to know the answer right away- but he did give them an answer. Both times. And it was a yes.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid,  _ Harry chastised himself.

Riddle could wait until tomorrow. He was going to the kitchens.

The halls were surprisingly clear on the way down, and out the windows he could ever-so-often spot a gaggle of students walking through the grounds. It was a fair afternoon, and they were either wrapped up in their common rooms or crowded around the Great Lake until dinnertime came along. If he were at Hogwarts- in his own time, that is- he’d probably be out there with them, laying on his back in the grass tossing strands at Ron while Hermione tried to quiz them both. 

O.W.L.s were supposed to be this year, and everyone had been sure to stress the importance of them. They’d show you where you stood on your way to completing your N.E.W.T.s, which you didn’t take until Seventh Year, and those would ‘open up job opportunities’ based on your score. He’d wanted to be an Auror. He wondered if it was still possible, and how long he’d be stuck here. Did 19-40s O.W.L.s even work the same?

Countless spells had been invented since then, countless theories and ideas and new knowledge gained. 1941 seemed farther away than ever.

Harry made his way to the brighter path on the bottom floor, the corridor that led past the Hufflepuff dormitories, and found the giant painting on the wall. There was a girl on the far end of the corridor, but her yellow scarf obscured half her face, and she was intently bent over a book, paying him no mind. He paused for a moment, but she didn’t turn to him, so he reached out to tickle the pear near the corner of the painting.

The door swung open obediently, and Harry slipped carefully inside.

“A visitor!” A cheerful voice called out, and he looked up to a sea of small bodies. The House Elves were darting back and forth, levitating food trays from place to place in a mirror of the Great Hall. The four tables were laid out, and the teacher’s table on the other side of the room, all already half-laden with food.

One of the elves ran up, a gap-toothed smile on his face as he wrung out the dirty pillowcase he was wearing. His large ears were perked, and behind him quickly appeared another elf, who was carefully balancing two trays- one stacked with chicken and the other with rolls of bread. The first elf threw out his hands, taking a low bow. “Would the Master like to eat?”

Harry shifted, uncomfortable. “You can call me James.”

“Would Master James like to eat?” The second elf said instead, holding out the trays. Harry hesitated, torn between correcting the elves again and leaving the topic alone.

“I’ll take that.” The chicken was suddenly snatched away, and Harry startled. He hadn’t noticed the door opening again behind him.

“Hey, James,” greeted Abraxas, though he wasn’t the one who was scarfing down the chicken. He stared at her, wide-eyed, as she gave him a quick jerk of her head in greeting. 

“Who are you?” Harry asked, as she spun away to sit at one of the tables, throwing multiple thank-you's at the elves.

“Druella Rosier!” She said over her shoulder, swinging onto a bench. Harry turned to Abraxas for an explanation, but he only laughed.

“Best Chaser Slytherin's ever seen- next to me, of course,” he said. Harry was still confused. Abraxas followed her to the table, stealing things off the plates scattered down it, and Harry trailed behind him. “How'd you get here?” 

“I walked,” Harry said dryly. He looked back and forth between the pair. Druella’s robes- Quidditch, not school ones- were deceptively neat, every seam carefully pressed, with blonde hair tightly plaited down her back. The girl herself was full of broad movements and exaggerated expressions as she attacked a bread roll with a technique startlingly similar to Ron’s. Abraxas casually waved a large piece of broccoli, looking altogether unconcerned. 

“I like him already,” Druella told Abraxas.

“You walked?” Abraxas said, “How uncivilized. Dru and I came in our pegasus-pulled carriages. All seven of them!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Druella said, so seriously it took Harry a long moment to realize she was joking. “Only seven? Maybe your family is poorly disadvantaged, for mine owns more than twenty.”

“But do you have white peacocks?”

“White?” Druella laughed, “Ours are gold.” Her tone was sharp through every jibe, though the smirk curling up her lip gave away her amusement. It was strange, seeing Slytherins in their natural- could it be called that?- habitat. Abraxas was still halfway through talking about his family’s peacocks when Druella suddenly turned to Harry. “Has Tommy-boy been giving you trouble?”

“Tommy?” Harry said, eyebrows furrowing. There was a lightness to Abraxas’ eyes that blinked out at the name. He turned to Druella, giving her a sharp look. She jabbed a fork in his direction, leaning an elbow on the table.

“Do you have something to say, Braxie?” she said archly, “It was a genuine question.”

Tommy. Tom. This time, Harry’s brows shot up. “Not really.” That was a blatant lie. Druella wasn’t listening though, her attention was purely focused on the blond Slytherin, who was raising his chin imperiously. He awkwardly reached for a plate to avoid staring. 

“ _ Tom _ never gives anyone trouble,” Abraxas said pointedly. Druella looked unimpressed, stabbing another bite of food without breaking eye contact. 

“Of course he doesn’t, I was only joking. Obviously,” Druella huffed, drawing out the last word sarcastically.

“Why don’t we talk about something else,” Abraxas said. Druella narrowed her eyes. “Quidditch! You like Quidditch, don’t you, James?”

“If you’re going to resort to something, does it always have to be  _ Quidditch? _ ” Druella said.

“Hush up. You like it just as well as I do,” Abraxas pushed back, though he rolled his eyes rather fondly. “Evans, I’ve been leading our team to victory for years.  _ Years  _ I tell you.”

“I thought you played?” Harry said, looking at Druella.

“I do,” Druella answered, looking quite pleased with herself. She leaned across the table towards him. “He likes to claim all the credit though.”

“Oh, I see, everyone’s teamed up against me then, hmm? Druella helps, a  _ bit,  _ but I do the majority of the work,” Abraxas said proudly.

“Is that why you lost your last game?” Harry teased.

Abraxas gaped. “You  _ have _ been talking to the others!” He ignored Harry’s finger-quote repetition of ‘others’. “Someone must be feeding you false information, because we are on track to win the Quidditch Cup.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you dropped the Quaffle  _ three  _ times last match,” Druella said casually.

Harry hummed. “That’s a lot.”

“Well pardon me, Evans. I didn’t realize you were the king of the court. Am I to assume you’ll be competition?” Abraxas conveniently ignored Druella as she held up three fingers.

“You bet,” Harry said.

“Such a shame you’ll have to wait until next year’s tryouts to show me up.”

“Ooh, I’d pay to see that.” Abraxas flipped Druella off for her troubles.

_ Next year.  _ 1942\. It seemed ridiculous in his mind, unfathomable. Harry hoped not to be here then. “Take me to the Quidditch pitch any time,” he said instead.

“I hope you’re prepared for me to take you up on that offer,” Abraxas answered. The pair continued on to officially challenge him to one of their mock-matches, the more friendly kind held on weekends. (According to Abraxas, the greatest show of inter-House unity to ever exist.) He happily accepted, and found himself swept away by the two mischievous Slytherins. They matched each other blow-for-blow, though they went easier on Harry.

All in all, it had gone much better than the abrupt dinner the night before. Although, that was certainly due to his company. He found himself forgetting about Riddle and time-travel and Dumbledore. About all the complicated things. 

Of course, any peace wasn’t meant to last.

He introduced himself to a few of the House Elves and thanked them before the trio headed out. Druella and Abraxas were apparently due for a late-day practice session, and they had kept up chatter so amiably that it was far too late by the time he spotted Riddle coming up the hill. He approached from the lake, hands casually stuck in his trouser pockets, as the trio took an extended walk on the path to the Quidditch pitch.

“Oh, no,” Harry groaned. Abraxas did his routine again, the fun little bravado-melting, personality-dissipating, soul-sucking, routine. It somehow made him look sallow- especially his eyes. Haunted and tired. Harry glared.

“Hello,” Tom greeted. To Harry’s surprise, Druella exchanged pleasantries with him, and to Harry’s complete and utter disbelief, she even hooked Riddle’s arm as she ushered them all along.

“Come on. I know we’re taking the long way, but I don’t want to be  _ late _ ,” Druella explained, giving Riddle a hard tug. Abraxas opened his mouth to snipe something, eyes glinting, but when Riddle gave him a once-over, he decided against the comment.

“Don’t you have to go to dinner?” Harry directed the question at Riddle, quickly looking away when the boy angled towards him.

“This conversation sounds familiar,” Riddle drawled. Harry stared determinedly out at the lake, black water gleaming past a sea of bright green grass. There was another group not far away, trooping across the field with brooms in hand.

“But don’t you?” Harry pressed. Druella gave him a quizzical look.

“I’ve already eaten, but I’m touched by your concern for my welfare,” Riddle said.

“We were there for a while, James,” Abraxas said with a stiff laugh. “It’s already half-past dinnertime.”

“Everything's just been happening so fast,” Harry said tightly. “I forgot what a  _ delight  _ you are.”

Tom looked perfectly prepared to retort, but Druella rolled her eyes and spoke first. “Boys will be boys- are you coming to watch your beloved team?”

Tom shook his head. “I have to finish a Potions essay tonight, but I have to be there if you intend on trying those feints again.”

“Don’t give me that look, I’ll get them down soon,” Druella said, wrinkling her nose.

“You’ll break your neck sooner-”

“Dru!” Harry caught sight of a boy, younger than them by a few years, jogging towards them across the grass. “Druella! Rosier? Miss Rosier!” He was dressed in full Quidditch robes, broomstick tucked under his arm, with the Slytherin crest over his chest. This boy didn’t carry himself like the others- no pride, no elegance, though Harry could see aristocratic bloodlines in his face.

“What’s wrong?” Druella asked. Tom fell silent with a look of polite concern. The boy wrung his hands, glancing around and behind him as he stepped closer. Curly hair flopped into his eyes.

“We um- there’s. . .I’ll show you,” he stammered, voice low and secretive, already turning back towards the Quidditch pitch. Druella and Abraxas exchanged a look.

“I’ll take care of it. Don’t rush,” she said.

“Wasn't planning on it,” Abraxas said, though he gave her a consoling look. Druella nodded gravely and ran after the boy. Harry stared after them in bewilderment as they disappeared past the stands. Druella had been keeping the conversation off of him, which was a welcome relief, but now he’d have to fend for himself.

“Maybe they need a hand,” Harry said. He hoped that if they walked fast enough they’d be surrounded by a barrier of people.

“Probably another injury,” Abraxas said dismissively, squinting at the pitch. A few of the Slytherins who had been hidden by the stands came into view, then more and more people until Harry could see two distinct groups.

They stood across from each other on the grass, the nearer group dressed in green and silver, the others in red and gold.

“It appears to me. . .” Tom started, though the sentence dropped off as they watched Druella arrive at the Slytherin group, barging straight through them almost immediately. Tom looked down at his robes, then patted down his pockets until he found whatever he was looking for. A little pin glinted in the light, and as soon as Harry recognized the crest he wondered why a boy like Tom wouldn’t just wear it everywhere. “Stay out of trouble.”

Harry realized it had been said to him. Tom had disappeared from their side the next instant, calling out to Druella as the boy from earlier held her back by the arm. “I’m going to help,” Harry said, but he didn’t wait for Abraxas to answer before starting off after them.

The Quidditch Pitch looked the same as it had always been, though the design of the stands was perhaps a little different- checker patterns in house colors featuring various crests and animals. Harry stalked past one of the Ravenclaw stands, seeing small flags tied to protruding poles flap in the wind. It really was a lovely day.

“-and I suggest you get that bitch in check,” was the first thing Harry heard as he arrived on the scene, said by one of the taller boys in the middle of the crowd.

Druella snarled, ripping her arm free and stepping up toe-to-toe with the boy who’d spoken. “Well, you’re our courageous Captain. Are you going to say something to them?”

The boy was a head taller than Druella and looked as if slabs of stone had been thrown together to form his muscles. His thick jaw ground audibly as Druella leaned even closer into his face. “They’ll leave once they know who they’re talking to.”

“ _ Who they’re talking to? _ ” Druella laughed, high and mocking, though she put a little space between them. “Am I a bitch for trying to get back our space? They know who they’re talking to, believe me, the problem is that they don’t give any more fucks than I do.”

“What’s going on?” Harry asked, though when he went to look at Abraxas he found the boy several strides behind, leaning against the Quidditch stand. He looked back and forth to where Druella was still arguing with the Captain, then to the crowd of Gryffindors shifting uneasily in the middle of the Pitch, and back to Abraxas. Arms crossed and head down, he made such a melancholy picture that Harry felt the deep tug of an instinct to go to him.

“Druella.” She looked to Tom immediately, raising her eyebrows. Harry watched Druella’s expression shift as she surveyed the pin on his chest.

“Head up, shoulders back, fix your hair,” Druella replied. Tom already looked battle-ready, his constant high posture already making him imposing, though he obediently raised a hand and combed down the swoop of his hair.

“And if they don’t listen?” asked the Slytherin Captain. Tom didn’t even look at him.

As Tom strode towards the crowd of Gryffindors, Harry turned on his heel and walked back to the stands. Abraxas fingered the end of a flag as it swayed in the breeze, speaking without looking up at Harry as he approached. His shoes felt full of lead. “We wouldn’t expect you to understand, Homeschool. House rivalry’s rampant around here, especially on the Pitch. It’s where everyone gets their aggression out.”

“So the Slytherins are  _ trying  _ to start a fight? Showing up on Gryffindor’s time?” Abraxas’ head shot up at Harry’s words. His mouth was a thin, hard line.

He cast a glance towards the team. “They won’t miss me,” Abraxas said, pushing away from the stands. “Let’s go sit by the lake, yeah? I’ll teach you a few signs.”

“Sure,” Harry said, not knowing what to say. He looked back to where Tom was speaking to one of the Gryffindors, a blank smile on his face as they shook hands. Harry supposed that anyone who wanted to rule the Wizarding World needed allies from every side.

Abraxas didn’t offer anything else- no looks, no words, he didn’t even start on a rant about Quidditch. They sat on the shore, Abraxas farther up picking at the grass, and Harry sticking his toes into the water until the sun went down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I admit I'm terrible at following schedules, but I tried and that's what's important, right? . . .right? In any case, here it is- I've been preoccupied getting 3 separate Umbrella Academy fics underway because I jumped on the bandwagon as soon as I saw the first episode, and I'm obsessed.


End file.
